Those Who Plan Together
by Maranwe Elanor
Summary: Elladan, Elrohir, Legolas, and Estel get into a little late night trouble.


**Those Who Plan Together**

**By: Maranwe**

****

****Summary: Elladan, Elrohir, Legolas, and Estel get into some late night trouble. A little something fun for everyone waiting on the next chapter of DOP. (g) 

Disclaimer: I don't own them. I wish to God I didn't own the plot. 

Rating: PG (shouldn't be worse than that, but it's still read at your own risk) 

Warnings: lol. Um. Stupidity. It offends my sense of dignity to even consider that I wrote this. 

Spoilers: Not a gosh darn thing. 

AN: This is a silly little piece written in response to a humor challenge on the MC list. Um, as I remember, it was supposed to include at least Aragorn and/or Legolas, contain four onomatopeia's, and use the words scurvy, pickle, brother, and squishy. There may or may not have been a passage we were supposed to use, but my memory is not good enough to recall it. In any case, it's not necessary to understand the fic. 

Um, I've been told the beginning is somewhat confusing, so please bear with me. I haven't figured out how to write this sort of thing (without using their names at the very beginning) so that it's perfectly and completely understandable who's talking. (shrugs) Suggestions, if you have any, are welcome. 

Oh, and don't bother flaming. I couldn't possibly take you seriously. 

That out of the way: enjoy. Or try to. 

()()()()() 

"Don't do that!" 

"Oomf!" 

"Hey, watch it!" 

"Maybe if you possessed an ounce of Elvish grace--" 

"Oh stop it! We're all on the same side here." 

"And if you manage to wake Ada with your bickering, everything will be ruined." 

"_Our_ bickering? This from the two most famous quarrelers of Elven lore?" 

"The ones who somehow make _everything_ into a fight?" 

"Who turn Rivendell on its head?" 

"Who drive even Orcs to insanity?" 

"As if Orcs weren't already insane." 

"Honestly, little brother, do you know nothing?" 

"Of c-- Watch out!" 

_crash!_

__

_splash!_

__

_thump!_

". . . erghn. . . ." 

"Um. Glorfindel? Are you all right?" 

". . . unnnghn. . . ." 

"I don't think that sounds good." 

"Do you think it sounds _bad_, Elrohir?" 

"You don't think he has scurvy, do you?" 

"Scurvy!?" 

"Estel, Elves can't get sick!" 

"Oh, that's right. I forgot." 

"Of all the--" 

"Elladan? I think we have more important things to do than worry about the questionable intelligence of one _adan_ child." 

"Thank you, Legolas." 

"You're welcome, Estel." 

"You're right, mellon nin. Wherever are we suppose to get more paint for our prank? It took us weeks to get this much!" 

"Er. . . ." 

"I think the esteemed Prince of Mirkwood was referring to Glorfindel, dear brother." 

"Thank you, Estel." 

"You're welcome, Prince Legolas." 

"Pickle?" 

"_What?_" 

"Do you think he'd like a pickle?" 

"Why in Arda would he want a pickle?" 

"I don't know. Something sour?" 

"You've finally lost it, brother." 

"Should we do something with him?" 

"Like what?" 

"Um, hide him?" 

"Hide him where? He's still awake, you know." 

"Are you sure?" 

"Quite sure. See that odd glitter in his eyes? That means he's busy plotting the most bloody and horrible revenge he can imagine." 

". . . " 

_squelch!_

__

_crack!_

__

_splat!_

"Have you done that before?" 

"Of course. Why?" 

"Oh, no reason." 

"Do you think he'll be all right?" 

"Of course. We've done this before, remember?" 

"Maybe if we're lucky, he won't even remember this." 

"A little bump on the head's going to make the great and mighty Balrog slayer forget getting paint dumped all over him and knocked to the floor to land in an undignified heap because of me, you, Elladan and Legolas in the middle of the night while walking the halls of our father's house?" 

"Yes." 

"If we're lucky." 

"My brothers, we are _never_ that lucky." 

". . ." 

"Should we hit him harder?" 

"We don't want to kill him!" 

"We don't?" 

_"Elrohir!"_

"Oh, of course we don't. What was I thinking?" 

"We need a plan." 

"His rooms are nearby, are they not?" 

"Aye, they are." 

"Could we get him to them?" 

"What for?" 

"And can we get a bottle of really potent wine? Does your father still have any of my father's Dorwinion left?" 

"He may." 

"What's in your head, Legolas?" 

"We need to get Glorfindel in his room and into bed, get him to swallow some of the wine so his breath will smell of it. Then we dump the rest and leave the bottle within easy reach. When he wakes, he will think the headache is from the wine." 

"Brilliant!" 

"But what about the paint?" 

"How should I know what drunken Elf Lords do in the middle of the night?" 

"You've never been drunk, Legolas?" 

"Of course I-- No, never." 

_snort_ "Right, my prince. Well, who shall carry Glorfindel?" 

"You, Legolas, and Estel shall do it." 

"And what of you, Elladan? What shall you do?" 

"Me? Why, I shall get father's wine. He keeps it in his room, and we all know I am the stealthiest." 

"Nay, son of Elrond! You are more deluded than the nobles of my father's court. We all know that _I_ am the stealthiest!" 

"Ah, Thranduilion-- but you do not know where he keeps it. And what good is your superior stealth if you must turn the room upside down to find it?" 

"I bow to your superior wisdom." 

"Thank you." 

"Now, then. Estel grab his feet. Legolas and I shall get his arms." 

"Why must I take his feet?" 

"You are youngest. And you already stink. Being exposed to more cannot hurt you." 

"I do not stink!" 

"Just grab his legs! The quicker we get this done, the quicker we may wash our hands of this whole mess!" 

"We shall have to wash more than our hands, I think." 

"Quiet, human." 

"Isn't that an oxymoron?" 

"Elrohir. . . ." 

"Right, right. . . ." 

"Say, this is squishy." 

"It's paint, Estel." 

"I know. It feels so strange between my fingers." 

"Do not play, brother." 

"It will feel even stranger between your ears." 

"Easy, Legolas." 

"Yes, Legolas. You do not want everyone to think you're an Orc, do you?" 

"Why, you--" 

"Wait!" 

"No!" 

"Careful!" 

"Stop!" 

"Oomf!" 

_swish!_

__

_thump!_

__

_crack!_

__

_crack!_

"Ohhh. . . ." 

"I feel. . . ." 

". . . I know, I know, the mumakil's gotten lose again." 

"How did you know?" 

"He's stomping around in my head." 

"Mine, too." 

"I don't think I can get up." 

"Do you think someone heard that?" 

"Truly, how could they not?" 

"Someone went through all of Rivendell and knocked them on their heads knowing we would need the help?" 

"Maybe they drank Ada's tea?" 

"Ada made tea!?" 

"Yes, I think so." 

"Thank the Valar for wine!" 

"You do not think it was meant for us, do you?" 

"Why ever would you think something so foolish as that, mellon nin?" 

"I don't know." 

"I got the wine!" 

"Elladan!" 

"You have not moved!" 

"Aye, we did. Are we not closer to Glorfindel and covered in paint?" 

"That is no proof! You were supposed to take him to his room." 

"So we were. On three?" 

"One. . ." 

"Two. . ." 

"Three!" 

"Oh! Be careful!" 

_swish!_

__

_squilch!_

__

_slap!_

__

_thump!_

__

_flap!_

__

_plop!_

__

_sigh_

"Elladan? Could I get some of that wine?" 

"No. Glorfindel is not in his room." 

"Mayhap we could drag him?" 

"Aye, that should work." 

"An excellent idea, Legolas." 

_scratch . . . squish!_

__

_scratch . . .squish!_

__

_scratch . . . squish!_

__

_scratch . . . squish!_

__

__"Can you not go any faster?" 

_scratch . . .squish!_

__

__"We are going--" 

_scratch_

"--as quick as we can." 

_squish!_

__

_squelch!_

"Watch where you are going!" 

"That's somewhat difficult as I don't have eyes in the back of my head, _brother_." 

"Oh! Give him to me!" 

_scree scree scree scree scree scree scree_

"There. Now help me get him on the bed." 

_unh_

__

_creak_

"Now what?" 

"Should we not do something about the paint?" 

"Nay. Where's the wine?" 

"Here. How much should we give him?" 

"Just enough to make his breath reek." 

"Slowly now." 

"Not too much!" 

"Here now! Don't drown him!" 

"I'm not!" 

"I--" 

"There! Done." 

"What should we do with the rest of the wine?" 

"It's perfectly good Dorwinion. It would be a shame to let it go to waste." 

"Let me see it." 

"Don't drink it all!" 

"Give me some!" 

"He's had more than I've had!" 

"No he's not!" 

"Don't hog it, Legolas! You get this stuff all the time at home. . . ." 

()()()()() 

The first light of dawn found Lord Elrond of Rivendell peacefully asleep in his quarters. It crept through the window and past the curtains and eased along the floor to the elf lord's bed. There it paused, as if considering, before inching sneakily up the four-poster's side and continuing towards the unsuspecting elf's head. It played in the being's hair, waking shimmering red and silver, then, with a malicious sparkle to do the twins proud, pounced into the elf lord's eyes. 

Elrond's eyes closed with a snap, and he rolled immediately away from the assault, pulling his blankets with him and up over his head. Why had he not listened to Glorfindel and had the wine? 

Suddenly, he was falling, and his heart had jumped up into his throat, his stomach into his chest, and his mind was once more fully aware. His arms spread out to catch something and halt his descent-- and he stopped. A solid _thud_ rang in his ears, and his body fairly rang with the impact. 

Groaning, he sat up and pulled the blanket off his head by dropping his arms, then he stared around the richly decorated room with moody distaste. Why was everything so bright? 

A _thud_ followed by a high _yelp_ drew his attention to his door, and he watched it a moment as if it would swing open and announce it would not be doing a modern jig before curiosity got finally got the better of him and he dragged himself to his feet, clumsily disentangling himself from his bed sheets as he stumbled to the door. 

The elf lord rubbed the side of his face, then ran his hand back through his hair, smoothing some of it, and reached for the doorknob. He turned away suddenly and walked back to his bed as if in a trance, pulling on a heavy, blue satin house robe which he tied at the waist before continuing out the door. 

He paused in the hallway and looked both ways, trying to determine the cry's origin. It was a helpless endeavor, and he finally just picked a direction and started walking. 

He had not traveled far when he came upon a strange sight, indeed. In the middle of the hall stood an elf covered head to toe in lime green paint, as if he had rolled in it, with only a single side still showing the pale blue of the original garment, and a matching puddle of paint in a pool around his feet. A large bucket, more a barrel than anything else, leaned off to the side with matching green paint still coating the inside. 

Elrond blinked. "My dear Erestor! Whatever are you doing?" 

"My lord! As surely as I stand here, I do not know." 

"Why do you have paint?" 

"'Tis not I, my lord. But it would seem the true culprits have left a trail." 

And so they had. It looked as if someone had taken a giant paintbrush, covered it in paint, and dragged it over the floor. Green footprints danced around it randomly but never strayed far. 

Eyeing it warily, like an enemy he expected would attack the moment he dropped his guard, Elrond traced his gaze along it to see its conclusion, peripherally aware of Erestor doing the same thing. 

"Why, it seems to lead to Glorfindel's room!" his advisor exclaimed. And indeed it did. 

"Let us approach with caution," he advised, wishing devoutly for his sword as he cautiously approached the cracked door. 

So far as he could see, there did not appear to be any movement on the inside, and he could hear no sounds form within to suggest the culprits were still inside. Yet no tracks lead away from the door. It was entirely possible they had not yet left the scene of the crime. 

With a supreme marshaling of will, Lord Elrond of Rivendell leaped forward and pushed open the door to reveal the occupants inside. Sprawled across the bed was the blond Balrog Slayer himself, Glorfindel, his clothes disheveled and coated in lime green paint. Collapsed on the floor, haphazardly propped against each other and the bed were four messy and familiar beings, three of them splattered in the same green paint that adorned his seneschal and advisor as if they had swum in it, and between them was a bottle of his finest Dorwinion wine. 

He scowled darkly. The door struck the wall with a _bang_ to rouse all of Middle-earth, and the four on the floor jumped, knocking hands, arms, legs, and heads in the process. They blinked blearily around the room before managing to focus on the towering figure in the doorway. Identical expressions of horror transformed their faces. 

"He did it!" they cried. 

Four fingers pointed in four different directions.


End file.
